


Legacy

by valiantfindekano



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 13:37:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1943175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valiantfindekano/pseuds/valiantfindekano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elros is frustrated; Maedhros reassures him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Legacy

Maglor doesn’t even follow him when he storms off, which makes Elros feel even more frustrated. He’s tired of the old elf favouring his brother—he’s tired of reading boring old books and writing boring words over and over across a page to practice penmanship. He’s tired of having Maglor promise to teach him archery and swordplay as a reward when he doesn’t do the opposite for Elrond, who prefers the books.  

He shuts himself in the next room, listening to the voices through the door, but soon a deeper, rougher voice joins those of his brother and their tutor. Then, footsteps coming closer.

Elros fears for a moment that Maedhros has come to scold him—but Maedhros only does that when he and Elrond do something dangerous, and refusing to study isn’t dangerous, is it?

“What happened?” Maedhros demands.

“He’s smarter than me,” Elros complains. “Maglor always tells him how smart he is and how his voice is so beautiful. And then he tells me my penmanship is bad and I spell words wrong.” He kicks a crumpled piece of paper on the floor next to him, which Maedhros swiftly bends to retrieve.

“It’s atrocious,” he agrees, but Elros sees his expression soften. It’s a subtle change; the older elf’s features don’t lend themselves to softness, after all, not with the cold grey eyes and the scars and the permanently weary look of his.

“Will it get better?” he asks tentatively.

“If you want it to,” Maedhros replies, and Elros blinks; he was expecting something more stern to come from his lips. But he continues. “My brother loves music, poetry, and art, it’s true, and your brother seems to share his tastes. He reminds me of your great-grandfather.”

“Beren?” Elros guesses at first, because it’s the side of his family that he knows. His mother talked about her family, even if Eärendil did not.

“I never knew Beren,” Maedhros states calmly. “I meant your other great-grandfather, Turgon. The King of Gondolin.”

He has a habit of making statements like that sound scornful, Elros thinks. “So my brother’s like a King? What am I, then? A farmer?”

Maedhros never laughs, but his lips turn up ever so slightly. “There are worse things,” he answers, and for a moment it seems he’s going to add something to that statement. If that was the case, he holds it back.

“The farmer’s pigs?” Elros ventures.

“Will you let me finish?” Maedhros asks patiently. “King Turgon had an older brother, who was High King of all the Noldor. Those brothers were opposites in all but their stubbornness. Where Turgon was shy, his brother was bold; Turgon loved to read and write, and his brother couldn’t bear studying when he knew he could be out experiencing the world.”

Elros thinks he can see where this is headed, though he’s not sure he likes it. “So I’m like the brother. Which of them was a better king?”

The softness seems to have disappeared from Maedhros’ features, but the sternness hasn’t replaced it. It’s like the old redhead is purposely keeping his expression devoid of emotions, which in truth scares Elros somewhat. “They were both good kings,” he answers, voice measured, “though Turgon was not so brave or generous, or so full of heart, and not nearly as loved by our people.”

Elros considers this. “So books don’t make good kings.”

“Books  _can_  make good kings,” Maedhros corrects. “But don’t let my brother—or your brother, for that matter—tell you they are all that matters.” 


End file.
